


Day Prompt 2: Holiday Traditions

by alljustletters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Domestic, Domestic Kink, F/F, Femdom, Femslash Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alljustletters/pseuds/alljustletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like every year, Miss Adler had announced that she would work through the holidays. And like every year, Kate had interpreted her scheduling assignment rather freely. It was her firm belief that one needed plenty of time to take in the Christmas joy, go on extended shopping sprees, take walks in the first snow, take day trips to the countryside, and curl up in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa, a new book, and someone massaging one's feet. As Miss Adler's personal assistant (flatmate, bedmate, playmate, maid servant, girl Friday), Kate saw it as her duty to make sure her employer got to enjoy as much of all this as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Prompt 2: Holiday Traditions

"Who is our first visitor today?" Irene stepped out of the bathroom, the scent of heavy patchouli-flavoured soap in her wake, and dropped her towel carelessly on the bed. The winter sunlight drenched her in a golden glow as she turned her face towards the window to suck in the warmth. It was never quite clear to say which of her actions were a performance, after all she clearly knew how the scenery complimented her appearance.  
In her chair, Kate crossed her legs and pretended to take a look at the calender on her lap, impeccably white thick paper bound in shiny black leather. "No-one."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Well, Mr Smith is coming in around three, but the entire morning and noon are unoccupied." Mr Smith was, of course, not called Mr Smith, but names were a matter of discretion. The clients whose appointments were neatly noted down in the calendar went by such obvious aliases as Smith, Greene, or Johnson, to which Kate would smile and nod, or sometimes ask them to pick a less popular one ("We already have a Mrs Darling, can I put down your maiden name to avoid confusion?"). Some of them preferred to stay anonymous even with their dominatrix, some gave her their first names or personal monikers. It didn't matter too much, as most of them were happy to be addressed as "boy" or "girl" respectively, sometimes "slave", sometimes "servant", sometimes a cuss word, and some had a thing for very literal pet names.  
Irene looked over her shoulder back at Kate, an eyebrow cocked up. "Is that so? Didn't the same thing mysteriously happen yesterday? And the day before that? One might get the impression I'm not popular anymore." With the sort of prices her clients paid, it was easy to survive on a handful of appointments each week, but she liked to be kept busy, especially during a time when getting bored enough to aimlessly leave the house would inevitably lead to stumbling across a Christmas market. "Of course this is purely by accident."  
The innocent smile Kate gave her could have fooled nobody, and she was quite aware of that. This wasn't by any definition a new game.  
Her employer heaved an exasperated sigh and shrugged into the dark green dressing gown before turning around to approach her. "Kate. Dearest." The tone was soft reprehension. "How often do we have to have this conversation? Your function is to schedule appointments, not to monitor my working hours."  
Kate's smile turned slightly cheeky. "You know how much I care about keeping traditions, Irene."  
"Hm?" Irene stood before her now, her finger running through the ginger hair, gently but with a hint of force.  
"Miss Adler," Kate corrected herself, trying not to be too obvious about how much each of her slips was intentional. Traditions were fine, but routine might make it boring.  
Manicured fingernails dragged across the skin of her cheek and the edge of her lips as Irene moved her hand to cup her chin, roughly now. "I do wish your idea of keeping traditions wouldn't include annoying me. You could always just try asking nicely whether I want to spend time with you."  
Kate's eyelids fluttered and she bit down on her lower lip. Many things were easy between them after years of companionship and cooperation, but confessing that she was afraid of a negative answer did not make that category. She mouthed an apology, eyes fixated on the wall behind the other one. It was rather unfruitful, expectably so.  
Free hand grabbing the length of her hair to pull back her head, Irene forced her from the chair down onto her knees, and Kate yielded into the movement like liquid. The calendar slipped from her lap and landed on the wooden floor with a dull thump. Slowly, testingly, she leant forward to press her lips against the other one's hipbone, but was stopped by a rough yank of her hair. "Don't you think you made enough decisions for today?"  
"Yes, Miss Adler. If you say so, Miss Adler." Kate bit back a smile, but she was sure it could be heard in her voice. She kept her gaze down as Irene's hands let go of her, as fabric rustled with movement and she could feel the body over her bend forward to grab something from the coat rack, as the hands returned to gently place a leather belt around her neck. Irene turned on her heel, and she followed, on hands and knees, not too eagerly but quickly enough for the belt not to tighten beyond tolerability.  
There were several rooms in the spacious house that served as settings for Irene's craft, but none of them fit the cliché of a BDSM torture chamber with the black or red walls, the spikes, and the latex. The first encounter Kate had had with the scene had taken place in a dungeon just like that and it had made her feel distracted and uncomfortable -- the smell of sweat and rubber and disinfectant, the leather-clad fingers on her skin. The resident "treatment rooms", however, had large windows, polished wooden furniture, tasteful wallpapers, and smelled of a mixture of potpourris and the incense Kate would light during the cleaning procedure.  
Instead of entering any of them, she found herself being led into the kitchen and, upon daring to look up at her mistress with questioning eyes, Irene mockingly declared this was the appropriate place for a maid servant after all. Kate flinched slightly, her cheeks heating up with embarassment, but she knew it wasn't expected of her to answer back. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed her body to sink into passivity, only following the motions that were stipulated. She could feel herself being yanked upwards (the belt tightening around her throat, a hitched breath escaping her), half led half pushed towards the sideboard, bent over. Clattering above her head, another yank on the belt, then a constant strain that told her the loose end had been attached to one of the hooks on the wall that held smaller pans and larger cutlery. Irene's now freed hands dug into her hair, then wandered over her shoulders and down her sides, grabbed her hips to push her closer against the tabletop, forcing her to stand on tip toes, squeezed her buttcheeks, grasped her ankles and started to tie them together with what felt like maybe the ribbon from that dressing gown. The familiar sensation of fabric pressed against her skin, of the knots tightening, of fingers tugging on them to test if they would hold up was like a relaxation technique to her; calming, practised, secure. She smiled against the wood below her.  
Irene's hands now followed the lines of Kate's softening muscles down to the seam of her skirt and pushed it up to expose her backside, then drew down her nylons and panties. For a moment, they just lingered, anticipation bilding up in the air like electricity and putting Kate's stomach into knots. Nonetheless, the first blow took her by suprise.  
She wasn't quite sure what Irene had picked up to give her a spanking, something flexible with a cold surface, possibly metallic, a spatula maybe? The fact that it came down even harder the second time didn't make it any easier to figure that out, or think in general. A muffled scream escaped her, and she bit down on her tongue to stop herself from making more sounds.  
The motion behind her changed, she could feel Irene hovering over her and a finger stroking her cheek. "Kate?"  
It took her a moment to get her thoughts in line and form an answer. "Green."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, Miss Adler."  
The other one moved back, and a third strike left its burning, tingling, prickling mark.  
"What is your job, Kate?"  
Four.  
"To, umm, to schedule your appointments?"  
"And who decides on the number of appointments each day?"  
Five.  
"You do, Miss Adler."  
"Now, did I ask you to reduce the number?"  
Six.  
"No, Miss Adler."  
"No, I didn't." Seven. "You acted against my wishes." Eight. "Why did you do that?"  
Nine.  
"Because I am selfish, Miss Adler."  
A sigh. "Yes, Kate, and I am very disappointed this lesson still hasn't stuck with you."  
Ten.  
"I am sorry, Miss Adler." Her was voice was trembling by now, hushed.  
"Will you be better in the future?"  
Eleven. Her entire body seemed to be pulsating.  
"I don't know?"  
"Wrong answer. I repeat: Will you be better in the future?"  
Twelve. Her ears were ringing.  
"I will try?"  
"Kate. Will you be better in the future?"  
Thirteen. Her fingernails were digging into what they could reach of the palms of her hand.  
"Yes, Miss Adler."  
"Yes, you will."  
Fourteen. She couldn't breathe. Could she? She'd swear that she couldn't breathe.  
"I am sorry, Miss Adler."  
Fifteen. Sixteen? She lost track. Everything was red and tingling and her breath hitched again and she made a strange choked sound somewhere between whining and screeching and all her muscles clenched and her face was wet from her breath condensing or from tears and her legs were ready to give in and everything was red and tingling and red and tingling and the world caved in around her.  
She felt almost numb to the fingers freeing her neck from the belt, the hands pulling her back, the arms wrapping around her, leading her to the kitchen table, pulling her down onto a chair into the other one's lap. Her eyes opened to the smile that she loved and a kiss on her nose and she pressed herself against Irene's body, who in turn made sure she sat comfortably, and ran her fingers through her hair, and held her tight. The warmth returned to her limbs, and eventually, she stopped shaking.  
Irene's lips brushed against her forehead gently, lovingly. "I forgive you, Kate. Happy holidays."


End file.
